


I Would Give It All to You

by The Stan by Me (DarthAnimus)



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-04-23 20:15:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4890634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthAnimus/pseuds/The%20Stan%20by%20Me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the end of the summer and Stan isn’t ready to leave the Shack. So, he makes himself forget why he wanted to stay in the Shack in the first place: his brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This One Is Sad

The last week Mabel and Dipper spent in Gravity Falls was hectic, mostly due to the closing sales of the remaining Mystery Shack memorabilia. In addition to the bustle and mess, Stan was constantly in a foul mood, which he regretted when it came time for his grand niblings to leave for home. He would have preferred to have fun with his favorite family members, instead of letting them leave on a sour note.

Really, there was little more Stan could do but offer to drive the kids home instead of having them leave on the bus. Ford might have been satisfied with a simple goodbye to the kids, but Ford was rather emotionally stunted these days (the way Stan remembered him, he'd used to be way too emotional), and Stan, while not very expressive with his emotions, at least sometimes let them out.

"I'll take you kids home tomorrow," Stan told the younger twins the evening before they'd leave. "We'll have one last road trip before the end of summer."

"This won't be like our last road trip, will it?" Mabel asked in concern.

Stan scoffed. "This will be a completely no-nonsense drive home."

The kids looked uncertain and Stan grinned. "Okay, fine," he said with a chuckle. "We'll throw a bit of nonsense in."

Mabel and Dipper laughed in response.

"Well, I guess that's fine," Dipper said.

"Then it's settled." With that, Stan ruffled the kids' heads and strolled out of the room. "Better pack up, then." Both the kids and himself, Stan added in his thoughts. It would be better if he just never drove back to Gravity Falls after he was done dropping the kids off. He should just keep driving afterwards, until he found someplace else.

He wouldn't need much. Some clothes, and a nest egg from his earnings from the Mystery Shack. He'd leave part of it to Ford, just in case he ever needed it, although he knew that would be another thing Ford would never acknowledge Stan doing for him. And then, there was one more thing he'd need. Something he'd nicked from Ford's stash of dangerous items some time ago. Ford wouldn't miss the memory-erasing gun, but it was the most important piece of Stan's latest scheme.

Stan was going to eventually have to leave this place behind anyway. Might as well leave on a high note.

\---

After the kids were safely home, Stan made sure to drive to a secluded location to carry out his plan. He'd placed a note for himself on the dashboard, to make sure he didn't wander off in a stupor, and he'd made sure the car had cover, so that no one would see the light of the memory-eraser.

Stan sat in his car, slumped over the steering wheel. He took deep breaths, trying to steady his thoughts.

He'd already made up his mind about this. He just had to psyche himself up to follow through. It would be better this way; Stan knew it. He could still vividly remember the years that had followed his father throwing him out on the curb. He'd been a mess and that had easily been the most traumatizing decade of his life. The criminal underworld had been bad, going homeless and hungry was much the same, but none of it had been as bad as the hollow space in his chest. That hole had swallowed up all of him, making it doubly hard to even get by when he didn't feel like it.

After Gravity Falls, working on the Portal had helped. It had been something to do when the world felt too cold and Stan cared too little. But now there was no Portal. Even worse, he was in the same situation he had been in all those years ago.

There was no safe haven for him to return to, no place to call home.

His brother hated him.

Stan shook as he took a tight grip on his hair in frustration. He was trying to psyche himself up, not psyche himself out. But the truth was, he was scared, scared of trying to live with that shadow hanging over him _again_. At least during his time in Gravity Falls he'd been able to delude himself to think that rescuing his brother would finally earn him forgiveness.

The man released a broken snort. It was the best lie he'd told anyone, and he'd told it to himself so that he could get up in the morning. He'd even bought it, hook, line and sinker. Now he didn't even have that empty comfort, there was no comforting lie to tell himself.

Even so, Stan now had more reason to not sink again than he'd ever had before. Mabel and Dipper were the family that actually loved him back. He'd known he was a difficult person to love, so he'd tried to keep his distance from the young twins, but eventually the kids had grown on him. He still got insecure sometimes, but he knew well enough that Mabel and Dipper had grown to care for him too during the summer.

Stan wouldn't let them down. He'd make something of himself. It probably wouldn't be much (he'd never amounted to much, he reminded himself), but he'd settle down and get a steady address so that the kids could visit their Grunkle Stan whenever they wanted.

Experience had shown that no matter how much Stan wanted to succeed at anything, he couldn't do it with the spectre of his brother's resentment towards him hanging over his head. He'd have to get rid of it in order to properly be there for Dipper and Mabel.

Of course, Stan's motives weren't fully altruistic. He wasn't a completely selfless person, even when it came to family. Truth be told, he wanted to be happy. He'd been happy, this summer, spending time with his grand niblings, and he didn't want to start feeling miserable again. So, it was better to remove the cause of his misery, apathy and regret.

He just loved Ford too much, Stan had decided. He wasn't the only one who thought so. Even Ford despised his affections and spurned his presence. Ford would be happier too, if Stan wasn't constantly dogging his steps, asking for love he could never give.

There was really no downside to going through with this. It wasn't even a gamble. There was no way this could backfire, so why was he hesitating? The dial turned slowly as he wrote out his brother's full name, and the hands that held the memory-eraser shook. The surface of the gun-shaped device was slippery from the teardrops that had fallen. How was that possible? There was no one crying here; there was no need to cry.

Stan gasped wetly as he placed the light of the device against his temple. It would be alright. He pulled the trigger.

The reason for his hesitation rose at the last moment, as a final lucid thought. This setting and these feelings, this sensation of ending. It felt a lot like he was dying.


	2. The First Ford Interlude

Ford really wasn't against Stan leaving the Shack to take Mabel and Dipper home. In fact, he thought it would be a good thing. Ford could use the time to think, since he had a lot on his mind, and not only concerning his research. He had a lot to think about concerning Stan as well.

Stan hated being idle, even as he approached retirement age. The highly eccentric tourist trap he'd thrown together was a testament of that. The fact was, Stan would need something to occupy himself with if he was going to stay (feel at home) in a small town like Gravity Falls.

The Mystery Shack would have been the easy solution to the problem (never mind how Stan managed to run it well enough to turn it into a considerable profit), but Ford wasn't about to back down from his opinion on _that_. The Mystery Shack had been a travesty that had made a mockery of Ford's life's work. No, the Shack had to go.

Even as he thought these things over, turning them around in his mind again and again, Ford kept busy with tinkering. He only took breaks when he felt hungry or needed a quick nap. His daily rhythm was so messed up to begin with that with this enforced infrequency, it took Ford three days to realize that Stan hadn't returned from taking the kids home.

Instantly Ford's mind started filling with horror scenarios. They'd gotten lost, been in an accident. A river troll had risen from the waters when they'd been crossing a bridge and taken Ford's entire family under in one swoop.

In the end Ford had to sit down in order to calm himself down enough to call the Pines residence. The mother was the one who answered and it was awkward, but not as awkward as it would have been if it had been the nephew he'd never met answering the phone. Still, she did helpfully inform Ford that Dipper and Mabel had arrived back home safely. Even so, the relief in her voice was palpable when she agreed to put Dipper on the phone.

"Grunkle Stan said that he had business to take care of," Dipper told Ford in an excited voice, eager to help the man. Then his voice turned worried as he asked: "He didn't tell you what he was doing?"

"No," Ford practically growled out the word. "He didn't even mention he was taking a detour on the way back."

"Grunkle Ford..." Dipper's voice was hesitant now and Ford cursed himself for letting his frustration show so obviously. "Is everything okay between you and Grunkle Stan?"

"We're fine, Dipper," Ford answered softly, trying to reassure his great nephew (Dipper really was just a child, not matter how mature he acted). "We're as fine as we ever are." Which was to say wasn't much, but they were managing. At least, Ford had _thought_ they'd been managing. "Let me know if he calls."

"Of course, Grunkle Ford," Dipper agreed readily.

That was the moment Waddles began to nudge Ford's shins. The scientist glared down at the animal. Then he realized that the thing had probably run out of food. With a heavy sigh he said his goodbyes to Dipper, knowing that the pig was now his responsibility. 

The pig should have been in Stan's care, it even liked him better. It only came to Ford when it was hungry. Still, there was nothing he could do but tend to the creature while Stan was M.I.A.

Ford would be patient for now but, as soon as there was word, Stan was going to get it, and not just because he left Ford to take care of a needy pig.


	3. This One Is Sad too

When Dipper came home from school, Mabel was already there. She was on the phone, beaming brightly as she spoke to the person on the other end: "That's great! We can visit you any time we want now." Her smile widened when she spotted Dipper entering the room. "Dipper's home." She activated the speaker phone during the answering rumbling from the phone.

"And it beats living in a car," Grunkle Stan's gruff voice sounded from the other end.

Mabel giggled. "I have no idea what the joke is," she then admitted.

"Just as well," Stan murmured. "Anyway, I'm thinking of putting up a shop in the ground floor, fill it with conversation starter pieces for all those city yuppie couples to fill their living rooms with."

"Wait a minute," Dipper piped up, finally joining the conversation. "You're not going back to Gravity Falls? You bought a house?"

"Rented, actually," Stan corrected him. "And don't be ridiculous. I'm not welcome in Gravity Falls anymore." There was something strange in the way Stan spoke the last sentence, a practised quality that made it hard for Dipper to believe it was sincere.

"How soon can we visit?" Mabel asked, eagerly taking over the conversation again now that Dipper was distracted with his thoughts. "Next weekend? _This_ weekend?"

"Sweetie, I'm still getting stuff settled," Stan attempted to reel in Mabel's enthusiasm. "At least give me a chance to unpack."

"Next weekend then," Mabel conceded, even though it wasn't much of a concession.

Stan sighed over the phone, but the sound was fond. "Alright then."

"Okay, love you, bye!" Mabel cheered and Dipper snapped into attention.

"Wait!" he shouted before either end of the phone call could hang up. "Where exactly did you move, Grunkle Stan?"

"The next town over. Not too far," came the easy answer. "I'll forward the exact address to your parents."

It wasn't his parents that Dipper thought should have been the first to get that information. He grabbed the phone from Mabel, ignoring her protests, and asked accusingly: "Have you been in any contact with Grunkle Ford at all?"

Only the dial tone answered him.

Dipper stared at the phone. "I can't believe he hung up on me!"

"That's what you get for asking serious questions during a courtesy call," Mabel chided him.

Dipper's only response was to start typing in a new number. He had a call to make, since it seemed that Stan wasn't even going to tell his brother he was still alive.

"Dipper, what are you doing?" Mabel asked him as she came to stand beside his shoulder. No doubt she was attempting to listen in, since Dipper didn't use speaker phone.

"I'm calling Grunkle Ford," Dipper answered curtly. "He's been worried sick but Stan doesn't even _care_."

"They need to sort things out," Mabel said in agreement as she crossed her arms. "But are you sure we should get involved? This is adult stuff."

"Ford needs to know that Stan is okay," Dipper insisted.

"Yeah, you're right." Mabel gripped her long hair in her hands.

"And he needs to know where Stan is so that he can bring him home," the boy added.

"What? No!" Mabel cried out, reaching out and grabbing the phone from Dipper before he could connect the call. "Grunkle Stan is fifty years old! I think he's old enough to decide if he wants to move out and live on his own."

Dipper tried to grab the phone back but Mabel was stronger than him and more agile and kept it out of his reach expertly. The boy growled in frustration. "He's not supposed to want that!" he finally snapped after growing tired of his own futile attempts to get the phone back. "He's supposed to stay with Grunkle Ford."

"Dipper..." Mabel looked distraught. Dipper was sure he mirrored the expression.

"I bet you thought I didn't even notice how bad things were," Dipper muttered. "I guess I just hoped it would go away. I can't _solve_ this," he confessed softly. "I'm...I'm just a kid." He pursed his lips. "But I still refuse to believe that separation is the solution. They're just ignoring their problems this way." He glared at his sister. "You want them to get along too."

"Of course I do!" Mabel spread out her arms in a helpless gesture. "But if they're miserable together, I'd rather see them happy apart." Her arms dropped to her sides. "I just want them to be happy."

"And if they're not happy even with this?" Dipper thought about how lost Grunkle Ford had sounded on the phone. For all that the two argued, Dipper knew that Ford preferred to have Stan around rather than not ever see him again.

Mabel shrugged. "We can't do much about this," she said in a defeated tone.

"We can try," Dipper insisted.

Mabel thought it over for a moment, head hanging low. Then, she handed the phone over to Dipper. "I do want them to love each other," she mumbled into the tall collar of her sweater.

Dipper's lips twitched in a brief smile before he connected the call, bringing the receiver to his ear as he waited for Ford to pick up. Mabel pressed up against his side, grabbing onto his shoulder when he tried to shrug her off.

"Dipper." Ford's voice was strong even over the phone. "What's the word?"

"He knew it was you," Mabel hissed loudly into Dipper's ear. "Is he psychic?"

"No one else calls here," was Ford's droll response. "Hello to you too, Mabel."

"Grunkle Ford," Dipper started, cutting off Mabel's response before she could voice it. "Grunkle Stan called today."

Ford drew a sharp breath and asked quickly: "He's well?"

"Yeah, sure," Dipper answered easily. He then paused for a short moment to steel himself before he continued: "He's found a new place to stay."

Ford didn't say anything in response for the longest time. When he finally spoke, his voice was cold: "He could have at least taken the pig with him."

"A-are you okay, Grunkle Ford?" Dipper asked, knowing that his grunkle tended to act more aloof than he really was, especially then it came to Stan.

"Of course, never better," Ford's voice boomed with forced cheer. "Who needs that lout anyway? It's not like we were that close anyway."

"Grunkle Ford," Dipper started but then trailed off. He had no idea what he could say in this situation.

"Thank you for your assistance, Dipper," Ford said cordially. "You won't need to keep me posted any longer. But do feel free to call if _you_ ever need to talk."

"Y-yeah," Dipper stuttered out. "Thanks, Grunkle Ford."

The call was then disconnected, but Dipper stood there for a couple of moments longer, the receiver pressed to his ear. Mabel moving away from him snapped him into movement and he placed the phone in its cradle.

"Honestly, I don't know what I expected," he spoke in a weak voice. What had he even been trying to do?

Mabel's arms wrapped around him, pulling him into a right hug. "I bet it wasn't that," the girl spoke into his shoulder.

She was right. This wasn't what he had been expecting at all.

\--

Stan lost his balance as soon as he managed to lower the telephone receiver. His knees gave out and he collapsed to the floor, his head pounding and breathing ragged. Why was this happening, again? What had caused it this time? He'd last had a migraine this bad the previous morning when he'd looked at his reflection for too long. They came seemingly at random, caused by just about anything. The only thing that was constant about his headaches was how they could be gotten rid of.

It took considerable effort to stagger upward and stumble into his bedroom but, as soon as he got inside, the dim lighting of the room soothed his headache somewhat. The real fix, however, was in the bottommost drawer of the bedside table, hidden away from anyone who might come looking through his things

Sitting down on the bed, Stan knocked the drawer open, pushing aside knick-knacks to slide aside the first false bottom, after which he riffled through magazines until he caught a hold of the second false bottom. From under that, he pulled out the memory-eraser the twins had found that summer.

The obvious answer was that whatever he'd used this thing to forget hadn't been removed completely. There was a chance it was something so all-consuming that literally everything served as a reminder of it. All the more reason to remove any trace of it, bit by bit; Stan had no intention of allowing himself to be controlled by anything, least of all memories he was actively trying to repress.

Stan placed the device against his head and activated it. Instantly his headache was gone, even as his vision swam from the after-effects of either the device or his migraine. He lied down on the bed to alleviate it somewhat.

His headspace was a mess, Stan thought drowsily, but he'd fix it before his grand niblings came to visit him in two weeks.


	4. The Second Ford Interlude

Another week passed before Ford got word about Stan. Throughout that entire week he had been antsy, never wandering too far from the phone just in case Dipper found something out, just in case Stan tried to call him. As such, the phone barely had time to ring before Ford was already answering, thinking: 'This is it, this is the lead I need.'

All of Ford's positive expectations were for naught when Dipper told him that Stan had found a different place to stay, that he apparently had no intention of returning to Gravity Falls. Ford had forced his roiling emotions to settle down long enough to finish the call. Then he'd barely taken a steadying breath before he went and kicked the armchair in the living room over. When that didn't alleviate his anger he stormed over to the kitchen, where he proceeded to flip the table and every chair he could get his hands on.

It wasn't _helping_. If anything, it was making him angrier. And so he went and got his shotgun out of the coat closet (he could keep it close at hand now that there were no children in the house) and went to blow off some steam outside, shooting potholes into the ground and zapping branches off trees while his thoughts swirled like a whirlwind.

How could Stanley do this to him? How could he just leave Ford behind after getting his hopes up? Ford had actually thought that they'd stay together after the end of summer, after looking after Mabel and Dipper together. But, apparently, family didn't matter to Stan after all. Apparently _Ford_ didn't matter.

'Oh god,' Ford thought as he collapsed on his knees on the ground. 'Oh god almighty.' _This_ must have been what Stan had felt like all those years ago, when Ford had been getting pumped over going to college.

How the roles had switched. Back then Stan had been forced to watch his childhood dreams crash and burn while Ford had found a different direction for his life. Now Ford's fledgling hopes crumbled while Stan found that he could make a life for himself elsewhere, that he didn't need Ford anymore. The only difference was, Ford had witnessed enough to suspect that Stan would do a better job of not needing Ford than Ford had done of not needing Stan.

A heavy sigh escaped Ford as he wrapped his arms around his knees. He took some steadying breaths, calming himself down enough to observe the devastation around him. Stan had been so upset back then, but he had only marginally damaged Ford's science project (even if it was in just the way that mattered). Ford, in his anger, had managed to wreck his whole yard. Clearly his time travelling distant dimensions had left Ford more volatile than his brother had ever been even during his emotional and hormonal teenage years.

Ford had to face the facts; he was dangerous. Who was to say he wouldn't harm his own loved ones when he got into a mood? He'd already hurt Stan, after all. The first thing he'd done after getting back into this dimension had been to _hit him_. Stan was just practising self-preservation getting away from Ford as soon as possible. Ford should be glad for it, not angry about it. It wasn't like he _wanted_ his brother to be in pain, even if he hurt him without meaning to.

That was when Waddles waddled over and Ford gave the pig a critical look. "What do you want?" he asked snappishly. "I don't have food."

The pig merely pressed into the man's side and Ford relaxed from his curled up posture to allow the animal to flop down in his lap.

"No wonder your kind are raised for slaughter," the scientist grumbled even as he started to pet the animal. "You have no sense of self-preservation." Why would anything want to be around him? Animals were supposed to have senses that could spot out danger. The pig must have been desperate for affection to come to him.

"You miss Mabel, don't you?" Ford murmured gently as he caressed the animal's head. "You have no idea if she's coming back or why she'd come back in the first place." Waddle's simple animal mind wouldn't even grasp any comforting words Ford might have. Just as well then that he didn't have any.

"She's your sunshine," Ford whispered, less talking to the pig now and more talking to fill the silence of the encroaching evening. "She's your sunshine and with her gone the world is all the darker for it."

Waddles snuffled in response, not really caring one way or another what Ford said as long as he was petted. Ford, meanwhile, was trying to breathe through a tight throat as his shoulders shook.


	5. The One With False Memories

Stan had mistakenly thought that a simple memory wipe would clear his mind of the things he wanted to forget. He kept getting flashbacks, headaches and sensations of nostalgia that distracted him from getting his new life together. On good days he would just get a nagging feeling of something new being familiar, on worse days he'd black out completely while foreign memories played out in his head like a distorted movie. Stan would have to learn to deal with the symptoms if he didn't want to grow completely reliant on a machine he didn't fully understand. If it broke, he'd be left with no tool to help him in the worst case scenario.

It was obvious that things couldn't just remain as they did. Stan couldn't even look at his own reflection without blacking out. He supposed that, as long as that was a problem, he wouldn't be shaving. His constant stubble was already going through the process of turning into an actual beard as a result. Who knows, maybe that would change his face enough for it to stop being a trigger for his migraines.

In addition to his reactions to seeing and hearing specific things, Stan also had nightmares. He'd often wake up in the middle of the night, hand reaching out to someone who'd never grasp his hand back. Those instances would leave him with a profound feeling of loss and loneliness, as well as an ache in his chest that was completely removed from his headaches and which not even the memory-eraser could alleviate.

During his waking hours Stan set up his apartment and new shop. When he couldn't sleep at night and didn't want to disturb his neighbours he would study any writings on memory he could find at the nearest library. Studying in the dark of night was familiar to him, almost comforting, even though he couldn't remember why he'd gotten into the habit in the first place. He had memories of studying physics and engineering but not of his reasons for doing so. Something nagged Stan's mind, telling him that his old man had valued that kind of book smarts. He couldn't recall any instance that really set that in stone as fact, but Stan was more than willing to blame his eccentricities on his old man.

So Stan read his reference books and periodicals over carefully. He'd first started reading into the structure of memory in order to find out why his own refused to be erased, but he'd also discovered strategies he could use to improve the process of forgetting. He was finding out that fabricating memories, creating false memories to cover his real and partial ones, worked well for a liar like himself. Although there was a risk that his construct might fall apart, since false memories were more often a subconscious reaction to corrupted recollections rather than a conscious attempt to trick his own mind into glossing over undesired connections and recollections.

This reconstruction of a new mindscape happened when he had bad days, when he couldn't even leave his bedroom in fear of being bombarded by sensory input. On those days he would sit in bed, the memory-eraser in hand, and he would _tell_ himself how his life had gone. Sometime he would need to use the device to get his brain to stop insisting that the things he told it were wrong.

He couldn't just rely on the machine, though. Outside of his worry over the machine breaking, he was noticing side-effects to forcibly altering his mind, to practically brainwashing himself. His family had always had steady hands; they'd been a great asset to a con artist. Now, however, Stan's hands shook and spasmed and his grip was growing weaker. He was already diverting time away from his other work for muscle training in order to alleviate the damage. He couldn't let himself deteriorate even further. He'd started on this path so that he could start anew, not so that he'd finally fall apart completely, both physically and mentally.

It was hard to tell what combination of memories needed to be altered in order to avoid a domino effect of undoing his constructed past. Some focal points were easy to alter, but others he couldn't see until he was already going through a mental collapse.

Hadn't he used to hide little notes in his boxing gloves because only someone who really cared would think to look there? No, no, no. That hadn't happened. He'd hid things in his gloves because he knew no one would even think to look inside. It had been his first treasure trove (that he'd have to empty into his pillow case every time he had practise).

His father had kicked him out not because of a wrecked science project (there was no one around who'd have made one), but because he'd seen Stan's grades and decided that his son would never amount to anything (that was believable, he probably hadn't been making the grades to graduate). He was still bitter about it too, so he'd never patched things up with his parents. He'd had sporadic contact with his mother before she eventually passed, and he hardly knew Shermy. He didn't need to change any of that.

There had been no boat, there was no one to build one with. Stan hadn't had friends, with his volatile personality. He'd wanted to leave New Jersey since young age, however, it was the reason he took such good care of his car. You had to have wheels if you wanted to travel. But he _had_ always wanted a boat, that's what happens when you grow up admiring them from the shore.

Stan hadn't been called to Gravity Falls, he just eventually ended up setting up shop there, when he'd needed a break from constantly fleeing the authorities. That was where he'd taken on calmer ways to pass the time, like educating himself. It was just another way of laying low.

Hadn't he been busted by the feds? How had _that_ come about and how did he get away? (They tracked you down, you outsmarted them. It's not like you haven't done stuff like that before.) That was why he couldn't go back to Gravity Falls, why he had a yet another different name on his ID.

He could do this. He could _do this_.

_Stan's conception of love has always been colored by his childhood memories. Stan's first memory of love was from when he was nine, counting to six over and over again while he played with his brother's fingers. He'd been unusually still for such a lively child, he always was when he and Ford did these things. These moments held peace and Stan wanted to always have Ford by his side._

_Stan's first kiss had been on a pair of trembling lips while Ford had cried and sobbed. They'd been thirteen then, and Stan had wanted to comfort his brother, wishing his love would be enough to fix every hurt his brother suffered._

_Stan's first tumbling attempt at sex had been on prom night, in the backseat of the Stanley Mobile. Ford had laughed breathlessly into Stan's ear almost through the entire thing, while Stan had chuckled throatily against his brother's chest._

_Being with Ford had always been easy, so easy that Stan hadn't thought twice about the physical closeness between them. Ford had soothed him further, claiming that it was a natural extension of their bond as twins, that it was logical for them to find new ways of being close._

_For Stan, it had been about more than closeness. He'd always felt a giddy happiness whenever his lips touched Ford's skin, from his fingers to his lips. Losing Ford had been heartbreak in more ways than one because of that. He'd lost his brother, which alone was enough to wreck him, but he'd also lost his first love. And he'd never gotten over it._

_Stan's idea of love had always been Ford._

That's not what happened. That's not how it went.

**A bright light flashed.**

Stan grew up mostly keeping to himself. He was a lonely child, but too spirited to truly be bothered by it. He had difficulties with getting along with his peers. Naturally he'd never been in love, even if he'd liked girls and the occasional boy well enough. He'd had his share of relationships, of varying degrees of commitment to them, but none of them had held the peace of "true love".

Stan's first crush was a boy next door. They'd been nine and had only ever held hands. Nothing came from it, since they'd been _nine_ and because Stan would have never told his tough-as-a-cinderblock father that his son liked another boy.

Stan's first kiss had been a girl in his class. They'd been thirteen and she'd had short hair and thick glasses and she'd dressed boyishly. She'd had her own type of class and Stan had kissed her gently, keeping that in mind. He'd been considerate, it hadn't been tenderness. Tenderness would have required Stan to love her.

Stan's first time having sex had been after he'd been kicked out. His partner had been someone else down on their luck and they'd simply warmed each other up for the night. Stan'd had such encounters several times during his time on the road. There wasn't really anything particularly meaningful about sex to him outside of the physical comfort it provided.

For the longest time, Stan had thought himself broken, being unable to love anyone. Even familial love had been scarce in his life for understandable reasons and various levels of resentment and unfamiliarity.

It was only now that he could see that he wasn't entirely broken, that perhaps the fault wasn't entirely his that love was difficult for him. He loved his grand niblings more than anything, so he was at least capable of loving his family.

**The remaining glow of the machine faded.**

Stan glared at his room dizzily. He felt strangely empty and hollowed out. He needed to check the calendar. How many days were left until Mabel and Dipper would visit him? He was suddenly missing them something fierce.


	6. The Third Ford Interlude

Stan had been gone for a month and the loneliness was really starting to have an effect on Ford. Bit by bit he'd become jumpy, irritable and he was sure hallucinations and delusions were just around the corner. Especially if his inability to sleep properly kept up. Insomnia was rough on the man.

It was just as well that Ford lived in the Shack completely by himself (not counting a clingy pig). This way Ford's worsening disposition wouldn't claim any victims and he didn't have to justify it to anyone when another one of his attempts to fall asleep in his own room for several hours failed utterly and he was forced to give up and stumble into his brother's room. No one was around to question it and Ford didn't have to look too deeply into his own actions.

Except for the part where the pig followed him into the room, staring at him with big, wet animal eyes. Ford glared down at the creature, somehow managing to read the soulful stare of those beady eyes as judgemental.

"This room has the most comfortable bed in the house," Ford insisted when Waddles just continued to stare at him from the doorway. "I'm not here because the sheets smell like Stan or anything sentimental like that."

The pig snorted.

"That's just your opinion," Ford grumbled and flopped down on top of the bed. It really did smell like Stan, most likely because his brother hadn't bothered to change the sheets before leaving. As for why Ford hadn't done anything about it, well, the fact that he didn't care for changing sheets was the reason he usually slept on a couch.

Waddles waddled around the room some, the sound by now familiar to Ford. The animal had semi-permanently attached itself to him, so Ford had learned to accept that peaceful tapping of pig-feet meant that all was well rather than that something was stalking him. Well, the pig _did_ stalk him, but it was benevolent stalking.

The pig scampered onto the bed and Ford rolled onto his back to glare down at the animal. "You better not keep staring at me, or I'll start thinking you're part cat," Ford warned it. Then he groaned to himself. "I'm already going crazy, living alone in this house, if I'm talking to a pig like it could actually understand me."

Ford slept fretfully that night, but at least he _slept_ , and in the morning he spent several hours simply lying in bed, alternating between dozing off and glaring up at the ceiling like it was to blame for everything going wrong in his life.

Wasn't that just the way, that you only realize how important something is when you lose it? Ford hadn't even realized, with the tension between them, just how balancing Stan's presence had been to his scarred, paranoid mind. Stan was perfect; he was Ford's brother, in a shape that Ford could easily recognize, yet he was changed, feeling and showing the effects of time in ways that no illusion could have thought up. Stan was still the same rough and crafty person he'd always been but he'd softened, not so much from age but from spending time with and caring for Dipper and Mabel. Even as his own experiences were something he kept a lid on, Stan was emotionally more open than before.

It really did seem that Stan had grown, become something bigger than he'd been before. Ford himself felt shrunk down in comparison, his own harsh life trying to squeeze the exuberance that had used to come so easily out of him. Maybe Stan had simply outgrown him, maybe he wasn't gone because Ford had chased him off. If he could just prove himself-

Huh. Had that been Stan's thought process when he'd first come to Gravity Falls all those years ago? Had he also just been waiting for some kind of welcoming gesture, chasing after someone he wasn't ready to let go of? And Ford had closed himself off, unwilling to give in even an inch. Maybe this all was just karma.

Sitting up in bed with a heavy sigh, Ford looked around the room, until his eyes fell on Stan's boxing gloves. He was suddenly reminded of a habit Stan'd had when they'd been kids. He'd used to hide notes and wrapped-up candies in his hanging gloves. For Ford, the other twin had explained, because only Ford would think to look there.

Overcome with nostalgia, Ford stood up. He held his breath as he swiftly made his way to the gloves and shoved a hand in. It was empty.

A sigh escaped from Ford's lips. For a moment, he had actually expected... He hadn't thought he might be this disappointed to be proven wrong. Despite it he gave a considering look to the other glove. This time he pulled on the opening with his fingers, peeking inside.

A folded up piece of paper met his gaze. Ford's breath faltered for a moment. It had been there for _weeks_ but Ford hadn't thought to _look_ , because he had still been half-expecting Stan to just march back into the house one day.

There was still a chance that the note hadn't been left for him, Ford insisted in his mind as he pulled the paper out of its hiding place. It had been years, decades since Stan'd had someone to leave notes to. It could just be something very personal that he didn't want anyone finding.

Ford turned the note over in his hand. His name had been scribbled on the back of the folded up note, in Stan's unmistakeable scrawl.

Not willing to waste another moment, Ford waved the paper open and begun to read.

 _Dear_ (The word had been written haltingly, the writing version of choking up) _Stanford,_

_I wrote this letter just in case you cared enough to look for one. The only reason I could make myself write this was that there's a chance you'll never see it. I still hope you never come across this, because it's the closest thing to a confessional I've ever done. I also hope to god that you do read this, because I put a lot of effort into this. I rewrote this probably ten times to make sure it was perfect._

_I always put the most effort into you. That's stupid of me, right? Well, I won't be doing it anymore, okay? This is the last time._

Ford faltered in his reading. He really wasn't sure if he wanted to read exactly what he'd done that was so unforgivable that his brother would walk out on him. But Ford had always been curious to a fault, and he read on despite his misgivings.

_When we next see each other again, if we ever do, I won't recognize you anymore. I stole your memory eraser, sorry bro, but I need it more than you do. I want you to know why I suddenly won’t remember you anymore. I did it myself. It wasn’t some stupid mistake, but something I put a lot of thought into. It’s fine._

_I’ll keep the memory eraser safe. I can do at least that much and even if you tried to take it back I’d probably try to break your limbs, since I won’t know you’re my brother and all. Just don’t come storming over, okay._

_I want you to be happy, but living with you this last summer has made it obvious that you can’t be happy with me around. All I seem to do is hurt and upset you. So, you’re better off without me._

_I’m starting over. I think I’ve managed to get down how to do that now. But I can’t manage that if I’m always thinking about you and how I messed things up between us. All the years between our separation and now are proof of that. I’ve done my best to make up for what I did, but I’m doing this one selfish thing for myself. I just can’t take it anymore, Stanford._

_I’m sorry. For everything. For not doing better by you, for not appreciating you before it was too late, for being too weak to just take your hatred like a man._

_Don’t come after me. After everything you’ve been through, you deserve to be happy without me there to mess it up._

_With all my love, for all the good it ever did either of us  
Stanley_


	7. And Then Everything Goes Wrong

Dipper felt a strange sensation of nostalgia as he and Mabel got off the bus. It hadn't been a long time since they'd done this same thing when first arriving at Gravity Falls, but it still felt like a lifetime ago. A lot had changed since then, in that short time.

A key difference was that they didn't have tons of luggage to drag around. Stan's new place was close enough that they could leave on the first morning bus and easily be back home during the same day.

The good thing about city area bus traffic was that the bus stop was reasonably close to the address Dipper and Mabel were headed for. As such it only took them around five minutes of walking to reach their destination.

The house was rather small, squeezed between two neighbouring ones, but it had two storeys and Dipper could spot the tell-tale window to a basement level near the front steps. Mabel was the one to lead the charge, leaping up the steps and opening the door next to an eye-catching sign that read: "Curiosities for the Curious-Minded". Dipper's lips quirked up at the sight of it. If Mabel hadn't been in such a hurry she would have most likely appreciated the cute wit of such a moniker.

There was even a jingling bell attached to the door that rang twice as the twins swung the door one after another.

"Oh!" Mabel let out a wondering gasp as she made her way to a paper sign that said: "One free tall tale with every conversation piece purchase." She was grinning widely when she turned to her brother. "I bet Grunkle Stan loves making those up!"

Dipper squinted at the sign and actually found nothing overtly suspicious about it. Then again, it wasn't much different from what Stan had been doing with the Mystery Shack, inventing backstories for the things he sold that the customers could then repeat to their friends. Dipper wondered if any of those stories were creepy stories and found himself smiling as brightly as Mabel at the thought.

"Kids!" Stan's voice boomed as the man in question stomped through the shop towards the siblings. "I thought I heard Mabel screaming. Come give your grunkle a great big hug."

Mabel released a loud laugh and practically leaped at Stan. The man caught her with ease and swung her around, mindful of the stands around them. Finally he propped the girl against his left hip and got Mabel's hands smacked to his face.

"You have a beard!" Mabel declared, even the one to point out the obvious. She rubbed the short, silver grey beard with her hands even as Stan tried to tilt his head back to escape the ministrations.

"Sweetie, that's enough now." As soon as his face was freed, Stan turned to Dipper.

"You want to treat your grunkle like a pony too, kid?" the man asked with a friendly, crooked grin. "Or are you too mature and serious for that?"

"Come on, Dipper!" Mabel cheered him on when he took too long to answer. "Grunkle Stan's even stronger than in summer!"

"What can I say? I've been working out." The man in question shrugged. "I have a lot of spare time in the evenings."

"Find a hobby more suited for your age, old man," Dipper quipped with laughter in his voice. He did walk over to Stan and let the man pick him up, however. It turned out Mabel was right. Stan had always had strong hugs but now the arm holding Dipper up felt like a clamp on a carnival rise; secure, protective and not about to let go. All in all, the effect made Dipper want to return the hug, and his arms carefully overlapped Mabel's own around Stan's neck.

Stan looked back and forth between the twins. "You two must have really missed me if you're this clingy."

"As much as you missed us!" Mabel cheered.

"Who'd miss you little nuisances?" Stan grumbled and, even as he spoke, held the twins closer for a brief moment before placing them down on the floor. "Speaking of nuisances, did your parents feed you before sending you off?"

It wasn't really a matter of having had or not having had breakfast, Dipper thought and knew that Mabel would agree. The twins grinned up at Stan. "Stancakes!"

In Dipper's case, the demand for food served a secondary purpose. While Stan cooked, they could get idle chatter out of the way (of which Mabel had a lot of) and by the time they were all sitting down eating in Stan's small kitchen (still bearing the markings of the previous tenant in the pastel-colored wallpaper that looked like nothing Stan himself would have picked out), there was a suitable lull in the conversation for Dipper to broach a topic of particular importance.

Dipper laid down his knife and fork and studied Stan carefully as he uttered: "Is everything okay between you and Ford? He's been asking after you." He hadn't really gotten the impression from Ford that this was all brought on by a fight, but it was always good to check. Dipper wasn't too keen on getting stuck in the middle of a grown up fight.

Stan's face scrunched up and he lowered his own fork. "Ford who?"

There was a long moment of silence after that, as Dipper stared at his grunkle in shock. Then the boy released a loud scoff. "Really, Grunkle Stan?" he snapped in annoyance. "You're going to be that childish about this?"

"I honestly have no idea what you're talking about," Stan groused, standing up to fetch the coffee pot. He was such a good liar, there was no hint of hesitation in his voice. Dipper wondered what was the point of going through the effort when Mabel and Dipper knew he was lying. Just an old man being obtuse.

The only thing that stopped Dipper from snapping at the man was Mabel hurriedly shaking her head at him. Dipper sighed and pushed himself back from the table.

"I'm going to the bathroom," Dipper grumbled and stomped out of the room. Behind him he heard Mabel warn Stan not to spill the coffee.

"Sorry, you know these shaky old man hands," Stan's voice replied and Dipper released a frustrated sound from deep in his throat.

His eyes fell on an old-fashioned telephone, sitting on a table in the hall. It would be so easy to just call Ford and give him the address. Of course, there was no guarantee that Ford would _do_ anything with the information. He hadn't seemed too interested in talking to Stan the last time Dipper had called him.

A sigh escaped Dipper as he glanced at a periodical sitting next to the telephone. It was a neurology magazine. Frowning, Dipper picked the magazine up for a closer look. It was about confabulation. Dipper himself wasn't too familiar with corrupted memory, but he supposed that it was a timely subject to an old man like Stan, who was bound to start forgetting things.

If he could just not pretend to forget he had a brother, Dipper thought bitterly, dropping the magazine back down and finishing his trip to the bathroom.

These stubborn old mules!

Dipper grumbled about frustrating older relatives under his breath almost throughout his entire visit to the bathroom. It had him a bit distracted, so it was only when he was washing his hands that he spotted the oddity.

The bathroom mirror had been turned around, the reflective surface facing the wall. Dipper glared at it. Why on earth would Stan do something like that? The sheer weirdness of that had Dipper completely forgetting he'd been angry only moments ago as he went back into the kitchen and asked: "Why's your mirror facing the wall?"

"The guy in there was giving me funny looks," Stan replied, as if that was the end of the matter. Mabel laughed and Stan turned to pet her head. "I'm glad you kids came to visit. This old man gets lonely easily."

"We'll come over so often we'll be practically living here!" Mabel declared eagerly. "Your new place is so much fun!"

"It's really nice," Dipper agreed as he walked over to the table. He wouldn't mind helping around in the store downstairs come next summer. It was neat and full of strange-looking objects, even if the stories attached to them were as fake as anything in the Mystery Shack.

Stan's shoulders straightened with pride, but Dipper's own mood soured again when thinking about the Shack reminded him of Gravity Falls, of Grunkle Ford.

"You know," Dipper spoke out, his volume of voice fluctuating with his uncertainty over what he was saying, "if you're so lonely, you could go back to Gravity Falls."

"Dipper!" Mabel hissed warningly. Stan, on the other hand, became blank.

"I told you kids, I'm not welcome there," the man said. "I'm staying here, where I'm close to you two."

Clamping his mouth shut, Dipper glared at Stan, who remained an impassable wall. He snarled. "Stop lying!" the boy cried out. "What about Grunkle Ford?"

Stan stood up, his chair creaking loudly on the tiles as it was pushed back. "For the last time, I don't know-" The man cut himself off, pressing a hand to his temple and wincing. He uttered a string of meaningless syllables in lieu of cursing in front of the children.

"Grunkle Stan?" Mabel asked worriedly. "Are you okay?"

"Fine, fine," Grunkle Stan answered in a low, gruff voice. "I get migraines sometimes. I need my stronger painkillers." He moved out of the kitchen, past Dipper. "You kids finish eating and I'll be right back." He gave Dipper an insistent look. "Then we will watch a movie and there will be no more of this."

Dipper quietly steamed to himself as Stan vanished into his room down the hall. He looked at his sister, who was giving him an angry look.

"What?" he hissed.

Mabel huffed. "Maybe having Stan living a bus ride away is a good thing," she then said. "Maybe Stan and Ford just need time to sort themselves out."

"Last time they took time to sort things out, they didn't talk to each other for ten year," Dipper grumbled bitterly.

"Well, you pressuring either of them isn't going to make them willing to cooperate," Mabel pointed out, crossing her arms. "Honestly, you couldn't just let it go?" she asked with disappointment evident in her voice and expression. "Why are you always so stubborn?"

"Oh, that's rich coming from you," Dipper said huffily. "I've seen how you get when you have your mind set on something. Also, speaking of stubborn, our grunkles are a pair of stubborn old mules!" Releasing a despaired yell, Dipper gripped his hair. "This whole family is full of stubborn stupid-heads!"

"Well, fortunately this family also has me," Mabel said and jumped off her chair. "My absolute adorableness will have Grunkle Stan calming down in moments." With that, she strutted out of the kitchen.

Dipper sighed heavily as his sister vanished the way Stan had gone. He contemplated sitting at the kitchen table, to maybe eat some more and wait for Mabel's return. He didn't even get a chance to pull up a chair before Mabe's horrified shriek reached his ears. Immediately Dipper dashed through the apartment to Grunkle Stan's bedroom.

Stan was down, lying on the floor in a heap. Mabel was on her knees next to him, shaking him weakly while choking back startled tears. Dipper plopped down next to her, hushed her softly, and proceeded to check their grunkle's vitals.

Stan was breathing steadily, but his heartbeat was a touch fast. If he'd had some sort of attack, it should have been faster; he'd only been gone a couple of minutes. Most likely the accelerated pulse was tension, the cause of his earlier headache. "He's stable," he said out loud for Mabel's benefit. "I'm not sure why he'd just-"

"Dipper," Mabel hissed sharply and the urgency in her voice had the boy looking up. His eyes fell on the object she'd just picked up and he immediately understood her alarm.

"What did he erase?" Dipper asked, voice hushed. The memory-eraser in Mabel's grasp was turned over and their other grunkle's name illuminated the small screen.

"Oh no," Dipper uttered breathlessly. He'd seen the signs, the periodical about memory, Stan's shaky hands when he'd been pouring coffee (possible symptom of brain damage), the actually sincere confusion he'd shown towards Ford's name. "I didn't even _see_." Dipper felt his vision go blurry.

Mabel wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into a careful hug. "Bro-bro, you're hyperventilating."

The twins sat in silence for a minute, calming down and considering their next move.

"I think you should call Grunkle Ford," Mabel said, breaking the silence.

Dipper swallowed around the lump in his throat and nodded. "Then the hospital, just in case."

Mabel stayed behind to make sure Stan was lying comfortably on his side, while Dipper rushed over to the phone. He quickly dialled the number of the Mystery Shack and waited. The dial tone rang hollowly in his ear, not calming his frayed nerves. On the contrary, Dipper's anxiousness rose each time the sound of the tone invaded his ears.

Dipper jumped when he felt something touch his arm, his head snapping around to reveal a worried-looking Mabel.

"He's not answering," Dipper choked out. He didn't resist when Mabel took the phone and cut off the call before dialling for an ambulance.

Dipper felt like he was about to throw up. He felt so lost, so _useless_. What was Grunkle Ford _doing_? Why didn't he answer the phone? He usually answered right away. With nothing better to do than fret, Dipper went back into Stan's room to watch over his grunkle while Mabel talked with the dispatcher.

With nothing else left to do, Dipper sat down next to Stan's prone form and leaned against his broad back. He closed his eyes and listened to his grunkle's steadying heartbeat, hoping it could tell him what he desperately needed to hear: that everything was okay.


	8. The Fourth Ford Interlude

Ford didn't know what he was supposed to do. There was no will or desire to move, and nothing seemed to really be important enough to leave his spot sitting on Stan's bed, curled up against the wall. The letter Stan had left had slipped from his listless grip ages ago.

He couldn't even muster enough willpower to make up his mind about the letter. A part of him never wanted to read it again because of the emotional suffering it documented, another part of him wanted to treat it as the most precious of all treasures just because it contained a profession of love from Stanley.

Stan had loved him, once upon a time. Ford now had undeniable proof about that. He wasn't sure if that was a comfort or made everything worse. At least at some point he'd been worthy of Stan's love, but what good did that do him now?

Ford didn’t know what he was doing in this universe. He’d been gone for thirty years. Everyone he’d ever known had either died or long forgotten about him. Some had simply moved on, but the two that hurt the most had been because of that machine.

Fiddleford was long gone, barely recognizable as the same person he’d once been. Ford had tried to help him, but even seeing Ford seemed to only make him worse. Fiddleford was better off if Stanford stayed as far away from him as possible. His son seemed to have his recovery well in hand.

As for Stan, well, he'd made up his mind. And it hadn't been a snap decision, considering the well thought out note left behind. Stan had measured his options and decided that living the rest of his days without even a reminder of Ford was for the best. Ford couldn't really refute that conclusion, he knew what he was, but he really wished to. He really wished he had something to offer Stanley, something to bring him back, something that would have made him stay. Because, without Stanley, Ford wasn't sure if he had anything to stay for.

It was a rather eye-opening revelation. Ford was in this universe for Stanley. He hadn’t actively made a decision like that, he was stuck here anyway now, but that was what staying had grown to mean to him.

Somewhere in the house a telephone was ringing. Ford couldn't bring himself to care.


	9. Featuring a Guest Star

Dana Pines was a quick thinker. She had to be, to keep up with her husband, whose mind tended to rush every which way. It was because she was also good at thinking on her feet that she barely blinked at the hospital front desk before she confirmed to the young woman that _yes, she was very much here to visit her uncle_.

Stan was shrewd. It was one of the first things Dana realized about her husband’s uncle when she first met him. She could find the value in it and appreciate it, especially when it offered a good cover story to hide the fact that the fugitive Stanley Pines was still very much alive.

It hadn’t really caused Dana pause to find out that Stanley and Stanford had changed places, or whatever it was they’d done. She’d only ever known one Uncle Stan, and finding out that the ‘Stan’ was short for ‘Stanley’ instead of ‘Stanford’ didn’t cause her half the hair-pulling her husband had gone through. Frankly, Dana was simply glad that Uncle Stan had been reunited with his twin.

Dana glanced down at her own little twins and realized that she had to act like a mother in face of her lying at the front desk.

“Lying is usually bad,” she told the two children sternly. “But there are exceptions.”

“If you get more good than bad from it, it’s okay!” Mabel cheered in response.

“We know,” Dipper replied shortly, seeming a touch embarrassed.

Huh. Figures. Naturally Uncle Stan would teach the twins about lying, but at least the lesson had been a genuinely good one. She’s known the man crooked when she’d agreed to send the twins to him for the summer. All the better for it, in fact. Dana was under no illusion over how Dipper and Mabel tended to be too clever by half. She was well aware of the schemes the two could hatch to get out of trouble, and wasn’t naive enough to think that there hadn’t been any tomfoolery that she simply hadn’t heard of. To be completely honest, Dana would have felt terribly guilty unleashing her beloved children, who had a tendency to get in trouble, on a relative who couldn’t hold his own.

Mabel and Dipper had grown to like Stan just the way he was as well, if the way they kept looking around for him was any indication. The two had clung to Dana when she’d finally reached them, and had sat together cramped in the passenger seat of the car on the way to the hospital.

Then the trio finally reached Stan’s room, the twins carelessly climbed onto their great uncle’s bed. Dana wasn’t going to scold them for the need for comfort and left the pair to it while she went to make a call on one of the hospital’s phones.

Dana didn’t entirely understand the situation. There was a great deal of information that she was missing. Regardless, she knew enough to purse her lips in extreme displeasure when someone finally picked up the phone on the eighth ring, only to grumble angrily: “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

God, the man sounded like he’d gone on a drinking binge the night before, slurring and obviously sleep-deprived.

“Frankly, Stanford, I don’t give a damn,” Dana answered easily. It was easy, to let her worry and anxiousness turn into pure anger now that she had located a target.

“Who is this?” Stanford sounded utterly dumbfounded, and Dana wondered if the man even got that many phone calls.

“This is Dana Pines,” Dana answered, just because she could be snide about it. “The wife of the nephew you haven’t as much as called.”

There was a long sigh from down the line, and Dana scowled at the condescending edge in it. “Is this important?”

Temper flaring, Dana had some trouble controlling her volume when she snapped: “That depends. Is the fact that your twin is comatose in the hospital important?” At this point, she was starting to doubt it was, as far as Stanford was concerned.

“Stanley’s in a coma?” Stanford’s question was practically whispered from how breathless the other was. “What happened?”

‘Way to prove me wrong,’ Dana mused, feeling a small measure of approval for the care Stanford was expressing. Her voice was a lot less venomous than it would have otherwise been when she spoke: “Dipper and Mabel would know more than I.” There was still steel in her voice, however, when she continued: “They tried to call you before.”

Stanford grunted noncommittally, followed by him saying gruffly: “I have some theories on the subject.” He didn’t even address her second statement.

Dana frowned at the wall, wondering what _that_ was supposed to mean. “Are you coming to see him?” she asked. She didn’t really think the situation could be improved with this kind of running-hot-and-cold person being added to the mix, but it was why she had called.

“I…” Stanford hesitated and Dana was about snap again when he said: “Yes. Yes, I’m coming to see him.” The man made a thoughtful sound over the phone, and then asked: “How are Dipper and Mabel?”

“They’re about as fine as can be expected with the situation,” Dana replied. “It would have helped if you’d picked up, I suspect.” Maybe the last part was a bit uncalled for, but these were her children, and Stanford had hurt them and he had to know that.

In addition to looking after them the whole summer, Stan had moved into a different state to be there for Dipper and Mabel. So far Stanford hadn’t shown half that care towards the twins and Dana wasn’t sure she could trust him with their well-being, even if Dipper and Mabel seemed fond of him.

“I suppose,” Stanford answered, sounding a touch distracted. “But it’s going to be fine. I’ll fix everything.”

Hoo-boy. Dana _really_ wasn’t sure of Stanford now. He sounded downright delusional. “Just, get some rest beforehand.”

“I’ll sleep on the way over,” was Stanford’s blunt reply. Then he promptly hung up, apparently not having any idea how to politely end a phone call.

Dana lowered the receiver and wondered if she hadn’t just made a terrible mistake calling Stanford over. The man seemed downright unbalanced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since we still don't have canon names for Dipper's and Mabel's parents, I named Mommy Pines after Agent Scully as a placeholder.


	10. Soos Is Fixing It

As co-workers, Soos and Wendy got along well. They both did different tasks for Stan, sort of making up for each other’s weaknesses. They were very different in personalities, with Soos being honest and sincere, while Wendy was sly and aloof. They had different taste in music too. These were differences that were easy to work around, not counting that one time Wendy wrecked his rap CD (she bought him a new one in the end).

With all their quirks, Wendy and Soos also had some things in common, like how they both liked being around people but didn’t like mingling. They both also liked and relied on Stan more than they let on.

This latter part was what led to their one big disagreement, which was on the matter of Ford. Wendy hardly came across the man, working in the gift shop. She did, however, often hear Stan complain about his brother, as well as simply observing how the man’s mood plummeted further the longer summer dragged on.

While Wendy didn’t outwardly show it (both out of consideration for Dipper’s feelings as well as because she liked to appear as if she didn’t care), she very much disliked Ford. All she really knew about him was that he was knowledgeable on the supernatural and that he kept hurting Stan. She mostly cared about the second part, although she was also miffed that the Mystery Shack hadn’t been opened again since the Weirdmageddon.

Soos was around the Shack more, so he’d seen more of Ford. He sort of knew him by now and had come to see Ford as a part of the Pines family in a way Wendy hadn’t yet. More importantly, however, Soos knew how Stan felt about Ford.

Stan wanted to make things work. Soos had been around Stan a lot; he liked to think he knew the man better than anyone. Stan had always been shadowed by a deep regret and a profound sorrow throughout the entire time Soos had known him. As soon as Ford had shown up, it hadn’t exactly disappeared, but it had lessened.

Soos wanted nothing more than to see the man he saw as a father completely lose that mournful cloud hanging over him. He knew Ford could do that, so Soos kept telling himself that they could work things out, for Stan’s sake.

Because of his disposition, Soos didn’t immediately hang up on Ford when the man came calling on one of his rare days off. With how many odd jobs he was doing, Soos didn’t get much time off (Soos suspected the people of Gravity Falls were clamouring for stories about the town hero and darling, so it was a good thing that Soos liked to talk about Stan), but he didn’t hesitate before grabbing his car keys so that he could drive Ford all the way to California to see Stan in the hospital.

It was only after driving for around an hour that Soos realized one flaw in their operation. He had no idea what his travel companions would like for travel music. Waddles was a pig, happily making snuffling noises in the leg space of the back seat, while Soos wasn’t sure he’d even ever heard Ford listen to music or voice an opinion on any kind of music.

“Hey, you doods mind if I play some tunes?” Soos finally asked out loud. “There’s some CDs in the glove compartment.”

Ford released a weird throat sound, fumbling with his pen and notebook, before he popped the glove compartment open. He looked around the CDs and Soos noticed with a side-eyed glance that he looked more and more lost with each casing he glanced at.

“I have no idea what any of this is,” Ford mumbled as he shifted the CDs around. “Don’t you have any...ahh, classics?” The man’s tone changed into a defeated one when he spoke the last one, lamenting the times he’d missed no doubt.

“Nah, gotta keep things interesting,” Soos replied easily and simply swiped the topmost CD to pop it into the player. “You might like some new stuff.”

Ford released a disbelieving sound that sounded a lot like Stan as the CD started playing. “I suppose it defeats silence.” He curled up in his seat and continued going through his notebook, marking something in every now and again, but mostly reading over what he’d written at some point before.

Waddles started squeaking to the tune of the music. Soos guessed the song must have been one Mabel liked and had played for him at some point.

They got through the entire CD, Waddles oinking along to songs every once in a while, with Ford bent over his notebook all along.

“What’s in the notebook, dood?” Soos asked when the music faded to silence.

Ford looked up, looking haggard and like he hadn’t slept in days. “It was an idea I had, when Stan first lost his memory,” the scientist explained. “I let the kids take care of him, but I started concocting different things that might help if they couldn’t… It wasn’t really needed but I kept at it for Fiddleford’s sake. I know he forgave me, but things are still hard for him. I thought if I could help fix his mind, it wouldn’t be so difficult for him to be around me.”

At the very end of the slow tirade, Ford froze and pressed his mouth into a thin line, like he regretted being so candid. Soos figured he had needed someone to say this all to, but hadn’t gotten the chance.

It really struck Soos then, that Ford was really lonely. Sure Soos wasn’t highly sociable, but he had his family and friends and the acquaintances around town. Ford didn’t have anyone, now that Stan was gone. It did raise the question of _why_ Stan had left and wiped his memories, though.

“Did you and Mr. Pines have a fight?” he asked, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible.

“Not as such,” Ford grumbled. “Not any more than usual. Maybe that’s the problem.” He rubbed a hand on his chin. “It’s like we’ve been having this one fight that we don’t know how to stop.” The man clasped his hands in his lap. “I thought I’d still have time to address it all, but then Staney did _this_.”

“Don’t worry, dood,” Soos reassured his companion. “I’ll ask Mr. Pines to come back home with us.” He smiled widely. “How could he possibly refuse?”

Ford actually smiled at that, looking grateful. “I think he’d be much more receptive to it coming from you.”

“Just leave it all to Soos!” Soos declared. He gave another glance to the tired-looking man. “You better sleep if you can. You’ll work those notes better.”

“Yes, good idea.” The man didn’t really much alter his position, falling asleep in his curled up pose, snoring loudly. Waddles started to make similar sounds in the backseat and Soos got an idea.

He pulled out a new CD and replaced the one in the player. A melodic tune filled the car, joining the twin chorus of throat sounds.

Soos’ head started bobbing to the tune. It was a good improv.


	11. False Sense of Security

The journey to Stanley’s location was a draining experience for Ford. It was a shocking and even upsetting to realize just how thoroughly Stanley seemed to have outgrown him. Yet, no matter how upsetting it all was, Ford couldn’t stop thinking about it after he stopped being distracted by his notes.

First there were Dipper and Mabel. Fortunately they were the least upsetting aspect of Stanley’s new Ford-less life, as they were also something the two of them could share. Even so, Ford was very much aware that, with how removed he’d been from his family before he’d gone M.I.A. for thirty years, he probably would have never realized that great niblings were something he’d even want to have if it hadn’t been for Stanley fixing that relationship. Mabel and Dipper may have been both of theirs, but Ford would be kidding himself if he tried to claim he’d have them without Stanley there to help make it happen.

Second there had been the townsfolk. When Ford had received the call from Dipper and Mabel’s mother (Darla or something), he’d realized that he needed to clean himself up a bit before presenting himself to Stanley. As such, he’d gone off to town for some supplies, where he’d been accosted by cheery not-even-close-to-being-neighbours who’d mistaken him for his brother momentarily (seriously, how did these people know Stanley well enough to be so familiar towards him?).

Someone in the grocery store had even thrown _eggs_ at him, of all things.

Last there were Stan’s employees. Wendy Corduroy and “Soos” Ramirez were pieces in the puzzle of Stan’s Life that Ford had the most difficulty placing. Wendy, for one, seemed to actively resist analysis and definition. Ford thought she was a bad-tempered teenager, based mostly on the acidic glares she sent Ford’s way whenever they crossed paths, but then he’d seen her laughing and joking with Dipper, Mabel and Stan. Some studying from a safe distance had revealed that she in fact seemed to share many inside jokes with Stan, ones that come only from a long, close acquaintanceship.

Maybe the reason Wendy always looked at Ford like he’d need to duck for cover had something to do with Ford himself. Ford had started considering this when he realized that, whenever she spotted Ford watching, Wendy would smile all the more warmly at Stan. Ford didn’t want to consider it as some sort of take that, a gloat over how much better she got along with Stan, mostly because Ford didn’t really want to think about how badly he was losing to a teenaged girl when it came to being Stan’s friend.

Soos at least wasn’t hostile towards Ford. In fact, the young man had always been open and friendly towards Ford, although that could have just been the way he was with everybody. Towards Stan, however, Soos seemed to hold a special affection, an affection that was somehow returned by Stan.

Ford wasn’t quite sure how their relationship worked. There was an easy familiarity between them, and Soos knew Stan’s habits better than Ford did (Ford was beginning to suspect he’d never known Stan as well as Soos did). Soos was completely devoted to Stan and Stan trusted him, possibly above all others. It wasn’t quite friendship, what the two shared, but Ford hadn’t had enough human relationship to really understand its meaning.

The important part wasn’t what Ford didn’t understand, however. The important part was that Soos was willing to help him get back to Stan. And he was committed to the task, if the phone call Ford had woken up to was any indication.

Ford’s experiences beyond the portal had honed him in many ways, both through experience and through technology, magic and medicine. While Ford’s hearing was one of his improved attributes, it wasn’t exactly enough to be able to listen to someone else’s phone call. The exception to this was when the other party was clearly shouting.

It said a lot about Wendy’s ability to raise her voice that it was her yelling through the phone line that woke Ford up instead of Soos’ hurried hushing. It made her stance on Ford abundantly clear. There weren’t really many ways to misunderstand someone screaming: “That creep should be nowhere near Stan!”

Ford could hardly remember the last time someone had called him a derogative word without it being in reference to his hands. He wasn’t too happy about it being in reference to him being allowed to be around his brother, however. Never mind the fact that the girl was assuming she _could_ decide whether or not Ford was allowed to be around his brother in the first place.

Soos was very kind to defend Ford to his coworker, however. Ford couldn’t resist a small, grateful smile at the younger man when he finished his call.

“Sorry about waking you up, Mr Pines,” Soos said when he noticed that Ford was awake.

Strangely, Ford didn’t actually mind being referred to by the same name as Stanley was. This was mostly because Ford knew, without a doubt, that Soos would definitely be one of the people to see the twins as separate and different regardless of what names he referred to them by.

“It’s hardly your fault that your friend got so...spirited.” Ford decided it was best to employ a diplomatic approach, even though he wasn’t very good at it.

Not so surprisingly, it was still good enough for Soos, who grinned. “She gets protective over the people she cares about.”

Ford lifted a brow at the younger man, considering. “Are you saying you don’t?”

“I guess I could, if I feel like it?” Soos shrugged, turning back to the road. (How long had he not been looking? Who’d taught him to drive?) “I mean, yeah, sure I do. Just, I don’t think I need to? Over you, I mean.” The man grinned at the road ahead. “You’re a pretty cool dood.”

“Thank you,” Ford replied, still a bit shaken from his realization of his driver’s dangerous driving practises. “Unfortunately, I don’t think it’s any perceived uncoolness that has your coworker so against me.”

Soos was silent for a moment, before he said: “Wendy will come around.” His tone was good-natured and assuring. Ford couldn’t tell how reliable these assurances were, however. Regardless, he could appreciate the thought so he tried to reel back the scepticism in his response.

“Let’s hope so.”

“Wendy holds onto things, but just a reasonable amount”, Soos insisted.

“You have a lot of insight on people,” Ford commented. Soos was just much more confident and competent socially than Ford himself. It made sense, Stan seemed to prefer more emotionally open people in his life, like Soos or Dipper and Mable.

“I watch and listen. I‘ve seen a lot of things.” Soos’ face flushed and he looked bashful. “I especially look after Mr Pines. This is a bit of a secret, but he’s always been there for me to look up to, ever since I figured I couldn’t rely on my own dad.”

“Oh.” Ford’s eyes widened, the last piece of the strange puzzle falling into place. “You see him as a parent. That explains a lot.”

Soos nodded, then his expression took on a half-hearted seriousness. “Just don’t tell anyone. Okay, dood? It’s a secret.”

“Of course,” Ford assured the other. He settled down comfortably as Soos continued driving. For some reason, this new realization of the relationship between the young man and Stan had Ford feeling pleased over the approval he clearly got from Soos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hah, look at me making not-so-subtle references to what a shitty father Filbrick was that Ford doesn’t recognize a familial relationship when he sees one. Fuck Filbrick.
> 
> P.S. Stan taught Soos how to drive.


	12. Adventures With Dana

Stan's house was the logical choice for a base of operations while the Pines family waited for any new information on Stan's condition. When Dipper and Mabel had been commanded to leave Stan's hospital room by their mother, they had insisted on not leaving town, so their mother had agreed to spend the night at Stan's place as a way to placate her children.

Dipper commandeered the telephone while Mabel and their mother looked into sleeping arrangements. Mostly that consisted of figuring out how Stan's sleeper sofa folded open. While Mabel released a war cry towards the couch, Dipper dialled Soos' number. He figured Soos needed to know what was going on with Stan as well.

The first thing Dipper noticed when Soos answered his cell was the sound of a motor in the background. Naturally, he asked what that was about. "Are you driving?"

"Not right now. It's Mr. Pines' turn," Soos replied, forever helpful. "We're taking turns so that we don't have to stop for sleep."

"Soos, no." Dipper groaned. "I'm glad you'll be here and I'd glad you're helping Great Uncle Ford, but you two can't sleep in a moving car. It's way too uncomfortable and it takes over twenty hours to drive from Oregon to California." He hesitated only a moment before pressing: "I don't want to have to worry about you two too."

"Y-yeah, we wouldn't wanna worry you," Soos answered immediately but hesitantly. There was a prolonged silence, most likely a reaction of some sort from Ford, and then Soos continued: "We'll stop for the night at the next rest stop that looks decent."

"Thanks." Dipper smiled. "We'll spend most of the day with Stan. Whenever you get in town, you can come to the waiting room off the main lobby of Highland Hospital. We can meet up there."

"You got it, dood," Soos agreed readily. "We'll be there as soon as possible."

"As soon as possible while still avoiding unnecessary peril," Dipper corrected, albeit fondly. "See you soon."

"See ya soon, Dipper."

By the time Dipper walked into the living room, the couch had been successfully folded into a bed. Mabel was settled on top of the mattress, wiggling in a manner that signalled that she would have been jumping up and down if the day hadn't left her understandably subdued.

Dipper approached the couch and gestured to their mom's overnight bag. "You should get changed. We have a long day tomorrow."

Mable settled down, looking utterly dejected. "Can't we still go back to the hospital?" she asked pleadingly, hands clasped together.

"We could but we shouldn't," Dipper answered. He unzipped the bag. "Come on, now. Mom actually had the foresight to bring us some nightwear."

"Just shows what a sweet, kind, _caring_ mother I am," Dana Pines' voice came from the hallway a moment before she appeared with an armful of bedclothes. "Now be a darling, Dipper, and help your sweet, kind and caring mother put these on the bed." She walked over to the bed and lowered the pile of bedclothes, narrowly avoiding Mabel. "Mabel, you've helped me enough, you go change."

"You got it, boss!" Mabel saluted and hopped off the mattress. She dug out a nightgown from the bag, shooting Dipper a meaningful glance, the look hidden from their mom by her movements, before she left the room to change. The purpose of that conspirational look was obvious; Mabel wanted Dipper to try to wheedle some more time off out of their mother. Dipper was, frankly put, better at getting stuff from their mother than Mabel was, and the two knew this well enough to be strategic about it.

Dipper waited until they'd managed to get the bottom sheet in place before he broached the subject. He started stuffing a pillow into a pillowcase as he spoke: "Mom? Can Mabel and I get some time off from school?"

"Of course," his mother didn't hesitate in her answer, sounding genuine and kind even as half of her focus was on getting a sheet over a blanket. "I'll call the school office first thing Monday morning."

"Thanks." Dipper threw the pillow on top of the bed. "Can we stay here, to keep an eye on Grunkle Stan at the hospital?"

Dana "tisk"-ed and Dipper knew what the answer was going to be even before his mother said: "I know you two had free rein over many things at Uncle Stan's, but he was still there to take care of things you couldn't deal with." She turned to Dipper, giving him a stern look with her dark eyes. That look always helped make the point that she was being serious. "I can't leave you two here, several hours away, with no familiar adults available to look after you."

"That won't be a problem!" Dipper hurried to reassure her, smiling broadly. "Great uncle Ford is on his way and he'll be here sometime tomorrow."

"Uncle Ford, huh?" Dana murmured, frowning deeply.

Dipper fidgeted with another pillowcase. "Is that okay?"

"Well, I don't really know him," his mother answered easily as she smoothed out the blanket on top of the bed. She turned to give Dipper and kind look. "I'm sure it'll be fine, if I just have a little... _chat_ with him first."

Dipper beamed. "Thanks, mom!" he cheered and quickly got back to work on making the bed.

 

* * *

 

Ford knew about the concept of karma. In fact, he'd studied many of its variations in the multiverse, found a way to measure it and had even calculated the units required for this measuring process. However, Ford was also under the impression that karma was a law of nature only in a select number of universes, among which Earth really wasn't.

Except that Ford was really starting to think there was _some_ force at work making everything difficult for him. He was certain that he had protections against almost if not all forms of curses, so a metaphysical force of personal checks and balances was the next logical option. Clearly.

Ford wondered what the karmic price was attached to almost unleashing a demon from in between universes into the physical plane. Ford had never managed to catalogue exactly how far up on the karmic debt scale world-ending and nearly world-ending actions went.

Apparently, judging from evidence, the price was somewhere along the lines of the entire universe dangling his brother just out of his reach, the most tantalizing 'almost there' that there ever was, while placing an obstacle after obstacle in Ford's path to Stanley.

Ford hadn't been too bothered to discover that one of his brother's employees thought he shouldn't be allowed anywhere near Stanley. He'd been frustrated but understanding when Dipper had insisted that he and Soos stop for the night on the way to Oakland. He'd been fully focused on solving the primary obstacle of Stan's memory loss, so everything else just passed him by.

Then he'd run into Dana Pines.

He hadn't expected the woman to welcome him with open arms. After all, she had been quite standoffish with him on the phone. What he had expected was at least some kind of a mutual measuring upon their first meeting. Ford understood distrustfulness, he was quite distrustful himself, he just hadn't expected this full-blown hostility right off the bat.

"I don't trust you as far as I can throw you," Dana snarled from between smiling lips and flashing teeth. "But, Dipper and Mabel like you well enough, so you get one chance."

There was something about the woman that reminded Ford of a predator or a mask. There was a genial smile on her lips, the primary thing the kids would notice from across the hall where they were showering Soos with hugs while Dana and Ford had a "grown-ups' talk", but the expression didn't reach her eyes. To be perfectly honest, the woman was strangely, uncannily, frightening.

"Understood," Ford said, voice curt but solemn. He really just wanted out of the interaction by then.

"I don't think you do," Dana said in a low tone. "This applies to Stan as well." Dana glanced over to Dipper and Mabel, much like Ford had a moment ago. "Stan was there to welcome me into the Pines family when I married my dear Tod. He was also there when I had Dipper and Mabel." The dark, steely gaze focused on Ford with intensity. "Uncle Stan is important to me and if you hurt him _or_ my kids, I'll see to it that you never see any one of them again."

Ford stayed silent. The last time he'd encountered a social situation like this, it had been Stanley warning him away from the twins, and silence had worked there.

" _Now_ do you understand?" Dana asked.

Mutely, Ford nodded. The dark eyes glared at him with their seemingly fathomless depths. He swallowed and said: "I understand."

It was thanks to his mastery of his emotions that Ford managed to remain outwardly unflappable as Dana said goodbye to her children, before she would be returning to Piedmont that evening. Soos would be driving the rest of them to Stan's house after they were done at the hospital.

Ford briefly wondered if Dana found their rather conspirational silence while she was leaving suspicious, but she'd soon left the waiting room and Dipper instantly popped his backpack open when the coast was clear.

"Do you need the device, Great Uncle Ford?" Dipper asked, forever helpful and eager to please.

"Just the container," Ford said and crouched down. Together he and Dipper carefully detached the memory container from the memory gun. The container then went into one of Ford's deep pockets. "Thank you, Dipper," he said with what he hoped was an encouraging smile. "This will make things easier."

"Do you need anything else, Grunkle Ford?" Mabel asked. Ford noted that the girl looked like she'd hardly slept. Fortunately he thought he had something that might cheer her up.

"No, thank you, my dear." Ford straightened and turned to Soos. "Why don't you take the kids to see Waddles while I go see Stanley."

"Waddles is here?" Mabel screeched and Ford and Dipper both jumped, quickly glancing around to make sure they weren't going to be thrown out. The attendant at the counter only shot a quick glance at the family to make sure that the commotion wasn't going to continue before turning back to typing almost furiously on a keyboard.

"He's in the car," Ford answered, keeping his voice low to hopefully set an example. "You can go see him and maybe grab a bite to eat. I might take a few hours."

"Can't we help?" Dipper asked and when Ford met his gaze across the distance he was struck by just how small his little niblings were. No wonder Stan had been so protective of them.

"Everything will be alright, Dipper," Ford assured the boy, reaching down, at the last moment running his hand comfortingly over Dipper's head rather than his shoulder. "I'll take care of it." He repeated the gesture on Mable.

"Thanks, Grunkle Ford," Mabel said with a smile. Dipper seemed to be at a loss for words. The two left with Soos and Ford went to the desk in order to request entry into Stan's room. Once he was inside, he pulled out a simple charm he'd made way back when he'd still been sharing a living and working space with Fiddleford in Gravity Falls, designed to keep people from snooping in certain places. He'd been struck by a touch of nostalgia when he'd found it at the bottom of a drawer in the basement. The charm went around the doorknob on the inside, in order to make sure that no nurse came in while Ford was in the Mindscape.

With the perimeter secured, Ford walked up to Stan's bedside. He looked down at his brother and barely recognized him.

Stanley looked like he wasn't even inhabiting his body, everything about him lax in a way that wasn't possible even in deep sleep. There was a short beard on his broad chin, that looked a touch unkempt due to Stan not being awake to groom it.

Ford took one of the chairs set by the bed and placed the memory tube on top of Stan's head, keeping his hand over it to keep it in place. Then he dug out his notes with his free hand and began to read.

The memories would work like a compass, Ford theorized. They should guide him through Stanley's mindscape, which would be invaluable, considering the fact that the memory loss would have no doubt left Stanley's mind in a state of confusion, creating a maze of recollections both true and false.

This would be a challenge but, for Stan, Ford would triumph.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to the members of the Stancest Discord, who helped me flesh out Stan's current location in Oakland.
> 
> Also, "Tod" is a type of fox. So, this Dana's important person is also a "Fox".
> 
> Another note: the care of coma patients includes moving them around every 2-3 hours to make sure they don't develop bedsores and the like. Ford warding people off would be a thing he'd need to do.
> 
> Coming up next: THE MINDSCREW!


End file.
